Chocolate Cosmos
by Imagine88
Summary: A one-shot set straight after the events of the season 9 finale. Dean's gone, Crowley's gone, the First Blade's gone, and Castiel begins to question everything he thought he knew. He longs for guidance, but somehow finds himself coming face to face with the memory of an old friend. While remembering the day he buried her, he contemplates what exactly it is to live.(Megstiel.)


_**"Well your faith was strong but you needed proof,**_

_**You saw her bathing on the roof,**_

_**Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you,**_

_**She tied you to a kitchen chair,**_

_**She broke your throne, she cut your hair,**_

_**And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.**_

_**Well maybe there's a God above,**_

_**But all I've ever learned from love,**_

_**Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you,**_

_**And it's not a cry you hear at night,**_

_**It's not somebody who's seen the light,**_

_**It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah."**_

**-Hallelujah- (by Leonard Cohan)  
**

Castiel wasn't quite sure why he had chosen here of all places. Earth was a vast body, and there would have been no reason not to choose somewhere thousands of miles away from the Winchesters' so-called "Bat Cave". The other side of the world, if need be; but she was so unearthly a thing, and it didn't seem like any one place on the planet would deem itself more appropriate than another. So in the end he had settled on a meadow; not much more than a mere six miles from the Men of Letters' infamous bunker.

Castiel himself, had always enjoyed open spaces. Enjoyed the freedom he felt in the midst of a breezy nothingness. It reminded him of what it had been like all those years ago, when his father had entrusted the Earth to him and to the rest of his garrison for safe keeping.

The pride he had tasted, and the sense of fulfillment, felt at the time like it would have been enough to keep him happy forever. Sometimes he wondered if things had gone differently, had he clung to those delusions of free will and of calling that maybe he would have died with the best of intentions, and the same kind of completeness that had once come over him.

Died like the Angel he was created to be.

This particular meadow was quite an isolated place. A large oak tree stood alone at its core, and a mass of woodland bordered a thick and verdant ring around it. The same mass of woodland that appeared in small clusters atop the bunker as well, and there in the middle, just in front of the oak tree, was a greyish looking headstone, and the words that made out in one of the greater human tongues: _Meg Masters._

Of course he didn't know her real name, and wasn't sure if she knew either. Meg was the name he had known her as, in the brief period of time he had known her for, that's what she was to him: Meg.

Always just Meg.

For starters, he didn't really know why he had come to see her at all. After more than a year of avoiding the monument he had made for her, it seemed strange to him that at this particular time, when Sam most likely needed him most, he was here, seeking some kind of silent counsel from a demon that was...

_Gone._

There were other things he should be doing of course. Tracking down Crowley, regrouping the Angels, and getting his Grace back were all increasingly high priority, but somehow it seemed, that this was where he wanted to be most.

The wind was light and tasteless around him, as he approached the stunted headstone. Human sensations were always a mystery to Castiel, but the lump he felt in his throat, the same exact lump he had felt when he first buried Meg's lifeless vessel, was especially peculiar to him.

He cursed himself for not being there, not being there to protect her; but it seemed no matter his intentions, no matter how hard he tried to protect the people he cared about the most, they always left him.

Always.

And the memory of each one leaving, well... it seemed like one of the reasons he was considering... An end.

* * *

"_Cas" _his phone had beeped. _"Pick up the phone, dammit!" _The deep and grievous voice of Dean Winchester droning through the device.

This had been shortly after Castiel had departed from the crypt. After he had beaten Dean, and had somehow broken the connection between him and Naomi, after he had taken the Angel Tablet, and apparently after Crowley's former hostage had perished.

He had gone to a motel room. Not unlike the ones that the Winchesters frequented, but he wouldn't be staying. That would be too risky.

He sat down at the coffee table, and had already placed his buzzing phone down onto the wooden surface, when the next voicemail came through:

"_Look, Cas" (Sigh)_

"_I don't know WHAT THE HELL you're doing, but we NEED that damn Angel Tablet! No one is turning their backs on you here, but that call with Crowley, that was too damn close!" (Sigh) _

"_What ever the hell you THINK you're doing, Cas, you're not protecting anyone. If Meg hadn't played decoy and got herself wasted, where the hell do you think Sam and I would be right now?!" (Sigh) _

"_If we mean ANYTHING to you__, then bring it to Kevin."_

And then the phone clicked off.

And Castiel let it all sink in, fumbling with his hands near his mouth on the table.

(He never did ask the Winchesters about how Meg had died. He found himself too afraid. Visions of a lone bloody martyr refusing to scream already haunted his mind. The knowledge that she had died by Crowley's hands seemed tragedy enough, without the means, and no doubt, hortific details. The only clue he had heard in hushed conversation, regarding that day, was mention of a unicorn. He thought that would seem cryptic, even to a human.)

He glanced at the weathered looking duffle bag, that slumped in a shadowy corner of the room by the door, and he made his decision.

Seconds later he was up and out of his seat, crouching down on all fours, and shoving the duffle bag into a cabinet that stood beside the shower in the bathroom. He then pulled himself up, exited the bathroom, looked around twice before locking the motel room door, and scurried to the place he had fled from hours earlier, with the hope that the Demon's vessel would still be there.

No doubt Dean and Sam had forgotten that they had left a young woman's body for the police to find, lying dead with a stab wound in a darkened alley, that just happened to have occult symbols spray painted on its walls. Castiel could understand them forgetting that a human would be left behind as soon as Meg had left it, because he himself found it incredibly strange to be carrying a mold the precise image of the Demon, but yet so unlike her in every other way.

He decided on the location of her burial quite quickly, as it was raining, and the downpour would make it harder to dig.

He found it difficult to lay her down, when he eventually reached the base of the oak tree in question, a mere six miles away from the so-called "Bat Cave".

She seemed so vulnerable, so different from the Meg he had known undoubtedly, but there were some things akin to the brave-hearted Demon, some things so like her it physically hurt to let go.

He found himself looking back at her several times while he was digging, glancing at her inanimate vessel draped over the bark of the tree. Any moment she would wake, spewing something balmingly wicked, or something he simply couldn't understand. He would gladly welcome either, and ached to hear her gravelly voice.

The rain was heavy and thundering by the time Castiel had finished digging, and dropped the shovel (which he had purchased in a more than questionable late-night garden centre) with a clang onto the ground. He scuttled over to the tree, and picked up Meg's physical form for the last time.

He carried her over the the hole he had dug, blinking rapidly as the rain stung his vessel's eyes, and strands of dark hair blocked his view.

The former vessel settled nicely into the grave, and although Castiel had no way of thinking it then, a thought did occur to him (after Metatron had 'brain-washed' him, as Dean liked to say): that Meg, in all her thorny beauty, resembled that of a comatose Snow White to Castiel; and he smiled secretly to himself when the thought of a kiss awakening her slumber crossed his mind, but then felt that strange lump again at the foolishness of that.

He contemplated the deep injustice of the world, and what it meant to belong to someone, as he gazed upon a part of himself he would never see again. Never had Heaven and Hell lacked so much meaning than in that moment. He let her half-open eyes, still dark and eternal, bewitch him once more, as he thanked her for the solace only another outsider could give.

Then the Angel Castiel covered her up with the same layers of soil that his father had created the Earth from, and wondered for a moment why the rainwater on his cheeks tasted slightly salty as they slid down his lips.

* * *

He knelt down uneasily in front of her monument.

The name on the stone seemed to ring in his mind over and over, before he finally said it aloud: "Meg."

This all felt very bizarre and uncomfortable to Castiel, he wrinkled his nose at the deep unsatisfaction of not being fully in control of his vessels thoughts and feelings.

Then, for a second, Castiel was almost sure that there was a smell of sulfur, and the reflection of a smile in the air. _"You remember everything?" _

_Meg._

He suddenly felt like she was here with him, like he could fade away into the nothingness he craved, where everything and nothing was known; but that she would be there, beyond oblivion, beyond the darkness. Never in a thousand years going to leave him alone.

All of these sensations were quite unnerving to Castiel, and quite distracting as it happened, for as he tilted his head away from her monument, he found the bouquet of limp and crimson flowers, that had been in his hand the whole of the time he had spent in the meadow.

He narrowed his eyes at them, tightening his grip so that they crumpled some more. It seemed almost necessary to confirm their existence, when everything else seemed so far away.

He placed them stiffly, just in front of the headstone, trying to smooth out the petals before bringing himself back to a standing position.

The more he looked at them, the more foolish he felt, and almost embarrassed like she was looking at him too. After all, Meg had never liked when he brought her flowers in the mental institution; but the bees had always told him to try again, assuring him of the fact that all girls truly did like flowers, and so he had, with a hopeful smile on his face and a longing to please the only one who hadn't left him, in a ridiculous attempt to make her stay. Frowning, Castiel wondered if that's why he had brought her flowers now.

He headed over to the oak tree, where he settled his vessel onto its trunk, glancing at flowers again, looking at the sky, and staring at her gravestone, thinking of all the wondrous things that made her Meg, waiting for the right moment to tell her everything he needed to tell her. Needed to tell anyone.

"The flowers." He gestured. "They've been extinct since 1902," the Angel mumbled awkwardly. "Or so the botanists thought." Castiel frowned, feeling strangely self-conscious. "I acquired them in Mexico and they're supposed to smell like chocolate in Summer and... (He sighed.) I'm not sure why I brought you flowers," he admitted. "Meg," he added, just to hear himself say it.

He felt almost angry with himself for acting so sheepishly, when it wasn't as if she was even here; but some deep and twisted part of him, born out of mutation perhaps, from its relentless exposure to the stench of humanity, somehow _knew_ that he couldn't bear to think in such a way.

He considered his next words carefully. "I felt in some strange way like we were equals. Two soldiers off the front line, forced to fight for anything and everything." He smiled first, then he almost gulped, at the sheer, weighty truth in those words. "We were born to rebel in some cruel twist of fate, incurably different from the rest of our kind. For better or for worse."

He furrowed his brow, and focused. "Your cause," he said in a deeper voice, allowing his anger to give him confidence. "Taking down the king. Well Crowley still has his throne... but not for much longer," he added quietly.

"He's taken Dean, Meg, and I should've seen that Crowley would take advantage, like he always does. I should've seen what The Blade had potential to do to Dean." He sighed. "I should have seen a long time ago what corruption has potential to do to a Winchester; but Sam needs me now, needs me to help him get his brother back, and I don't know if that's even possible Meg. I don't know if anything's possible _this time._"

Castiel sighed again and leant further back into the tree, reaching into his pocket and stroking a series of charms on a brown leather cord that had stowed itself away for many months. A necklace. _Her_ necklace.

"I try Meg, and I give them everything. Try to give myself over to all the things they stand for, but after everything that's happened-" The lump had somehow doubled in size. "-I don't know how good I am for them, or how good they are for each other. Dean's gone, Crowley's gone, the First Blade's gone, and Meg I'm..." His voice grew thick and worn. "I'm tired," he professed for the first time aloud. "I'm tired of doing this time and time again and..." He stopped. "How can this be free will? How can this be what I've always wished for, fighting the good fight; but I don't even know who I'm fighting anymore, Meg; and I wonder how _this_, any of this, could ever be perceived as the right thing. Not after all the blood shed."

The Angel then looked up to the sky.

"And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment; but concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only," Castiel quoted.

"But in the end Meg, whether it be here on Earth, or in a divinity which may or may not exist, it seems there is only judgment."

Then Castiel smiled, a little unsettled. "You were different." He then lowered his eyes to the ground, and their last interaction filled his mind.

"I never felt like I was being judged with you."

"Even with Sam and Dean sometimes, Meg, I feel..." He couldn't find the right words exactly.

After all, as an Angel, Castiel was never required to articulate his _feelings_. A weapon doesn't have feelings. That is of course until it is given a wielder, whose emotions and instincts it then must act upon regardless. Angels would never think it possible for a vessel to have anything akin to that kind of control over its host, but then again, Angels were oblivious to so many things.

"I feel like after all the time I've spent on Earth, after all the things that have gone wrong, I... I can't understand how I forgive them. How they forgive me."

She stood there in his mind. Smiling, laughing, and calling his name. Her familiar darkness tumbling down on top of him. Choking him, and making him feel completely at ease.

"Sometimes I feel like all they do is judge me, judge one another, and sometimes all I want is an escape."

He started fumbling with his hands near his lap again, almost the same as he had done when he heard about Meg first.

His mind wandered back to her again, and everything about her he... loved. But it wasn't the same kind of love that he felt for the Winchesters. Nor the so-called love that the pizza man felt for the babysitter. This was something more. This was something he clung to quite instinctively. Like the bees collecting nectar. Something completely and utterly unintelligible, and somehow, it felt like freedom.

"When I said that you were beautiful." He stopped himself immediately, astounded that he had said that out loud, and he fidgeted with one hand again, while the other stretched behind his head to scratch his neck. It wasn't because it was itchy, and that was the only reason Castiel thought possible for doing such a thing, but he blushed even more when he recognised his own embarrassment.

"That was me talking," he said meekly. He sighed irritably at himself. "What I mean is," he started, bracing himself. "Is that it wasn't "crazy town" me talking, just that I... I meant it."

"I think you're beautiful for many reasons," he said, trying to keep his head held high, despite the temptation to simply disappear he was feeling.

"And I always will. Because you're the light at the end of the tunnel for me, Meg." And he wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. "Whether or not I fully understand that metaphor," he stated, his head tilted to the side, in that more than classic Castiel way.

"At the end of the day when there's nothing left to fight for, and my principals are lost, you're my cause," he explained; in a way in which he almost felt he was explaining it to himself for the first time.

"And I may not know why I'm so sweet on you, Meg, but at least I know who Clarence is now, and frankly, I'm not flattered about the comparison," he grinned, in a very out of character, un-Castiel kind of way. One that left him smiling long after his vessel had stopped, and a refreshing feeling washed over him. One that made him almost certain that their very one-sided conversation had come to an end.

An ending which in his mind was more than satisfactory.

An ending which in his mind spelled out one word: Meg, and that made him smile all the more.

"And one final thing, Meg," Castiel started, as he made his way out of the meadow. "The flowers," he gestured again. "They reminded me of you. And I... I can't wait for pizza and moving furniture around."

He grinned once more before he left, something devious and almost Meg-like on his lips. A line Metatron had mused on more than one occasion had suddenly entered his mind. He thought she'd be proud of him.

For who indeed could ever learn to love a Beast?


End file.
